Deadends
by Schermionie
Summary: 'She is only sharp white bones.' - Cho/Cedric -


**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter_ is the property of J.K. Rowling, who I am not.

**Warning for:** character with an eating disorder.

**A/N:** Um, well... I'm quite nervous actually...

This is AU, which isn't so usual for me these days, but the idea of Cho suffering from an eating disorder has been with me since 2006. I finally wrote it three years later in 2009, whilst experimenting with a new writing style. Now, in 2012, here it is. It's a tough subject to take on, which is why it's taken so long for me to find the nerves to post it. I hope this isn't... well, I hope this isn't bad. Constructive criticism is welcome, if you have any.

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**00 **The cold dead faces of people still alive haunt her dreams. All except one, Cedric, a boy she once loved. He's not alive, but at night he stands beside her, his skin only a little more pallid than hers now. They match.

Cold lingers with her in her sleep, the dead blurring into each other in the way that dreams do.

In her waking hours there is equal cold and whiteness, but nothing blurs: she is only sharp white bones. Her skin stretches taut across this brittleness, and on them people's gazes linger, in the same way her own eyes never stop staring.

**0 **Harry's something great, they say, but to her there is nothing great about standing high if it's on the bodies of countless sacrifices, feeling satisfied by arriving somewhere you were always headed.

It's like a maze. You finally get to the centre, but only then do you realise that you forgot to mark the way back.

**1 **They say that there are things that rip your life apart. In the aftermath you don't take things for granted anymore, you don't lose sight of the value of even the smallest echo of laughter.

Cho disagrees. Events flow by her now, faster than numbers on scales, and she's filled with only the knowledge that her days will always be this way, that she'll inhabit a never-changing landscape. She knows that she once had the chance to stop all this, to stop Cedric and the others from dying, if only she'd just listened to that gnarled terror which curled up within her every time he performed his Tasks, or when she saw her loved ones prepare to sacrifice their lives for a different reason - but that like a quick-witted snitch, or yet another set of china her dull senses have let her drop, it's forever slipped out of her grasp.

This saying implies that her awareness of things has increased, but it's only lessened. She never cared for the Hogwarts rumour mill: thought the silly gossipers should do something other than bother her, thought that she and her current boyfriend - whoever he was - were too mature for that, that they should sneak past it with the joy of a happy secret.

Now she takes advantage of the rumours that, even after Hogwarts, haven't stopped, uses them to keep the sympathetic looks away - and the anger. They're well-meaning, but that's not enough, and she doesn't mind the whispers - or the shouts - so much now. Let them sneer and ask when she'll "snap out of it". Contrary to what they believe, the grief hasn't quite consumed her... It has instead surrounded like a fog on all sides, separating her from everything but these words. Fog clears, but what it hides might not be what you want it to be.

If they wanted her to snap, they would have to wait.

**2 **In sympathy there is a certain emptiness.

In spite of an individual's life experiences, there are no rules as to who can give it. If you haven't experienced what the _poor, poor _receiver is feeling, you can only offer words. Words you feel you have to give through the rift of awkwardness.

Even if you understand more than many, you're still thinking of yourself. Your own pain will always be there - waiting - whispering reminders to you that this is something _you _know, that _you _have been where this unfortunate person is now. The sick truth is, many are only glad that the grief hasn't fixed its greedy eyes on them.

So when her friend's mother is killed at the hands of Voldemort, Cho withdraws behind the dark glass of personal space, the need to _leave this person alone_.

She tries not to fill the silence, and the more she resolves not to think of Cedric, the more she does.

**3 **Kissing's different now, something strange and almost eerie. It's not all guilt that makes her cry when she kisses the Boy-Who-Lived instead of the Boy-Who-Didn't, and nor is it any real sadness at feeling she is truly leaving Cedric behind, for she did that months ago beside still earth.

No. It was because she hadn't done this sooner, because she _needed _this, because the password to a place she used to be had been here all along and Cho just hadn't seen it.

She likes Harry; she really does. He hides it and expresses it in different ways, but he, too, is grieving for Cedric, and that means so much more than anyone's sympathy. She only cried because she thought she'd stopped loving heroes. Their white horses get tired of carrying two people eventually, and if you're on foot you'll never keep up with their heroic charges... And so she takes pleasure in the slowness of her life now; her gradually decreasing form is like the sun disappearing below the horizon as she looks for her lost prince.

Yet she likes this new prince too much just to give up, and if she doesn't try then he'll stay just out of reach, like the frustration of failing to make amortentia when it's being brewed perfectly around you.

So for once she obeys her body and eats.

And eats.

And eats until she's _sick_ with it.

**4 **Unlike Filch during the Chamber of Secrets debacle, she tries not to walk past memories. It's hard, because her old self has been everywhere in Hogwarts, and her feet take her along the worst paths when her mind is elsewhere, as it often is.

They say time heals, and perhaps it does, perhaps it _will_, but for now her only protection is the one her body can give her. Her feet take her to these places to stop making her feel like she is a stranger to this castle, to grab and to hold the connections to her previous days that she both craves and despises; and ultimately, to hide the shame that she wants to hide in the first place. Her mind shuts down at night, denying her the times she used to chase the past under the covers, tried to trace the delicate places where it used to lie, when the fact that she couldn't fulfil this softly burning ache kept her awake. Now her fingers don't shake as she writes nothing to her family, who wouldn't support her anti-Ministry feelings even now; her eyes can blink back things that feel like tears despite feeling she shouldn't be crying when no one else is; her stomach doesn't clench when she hears of Quidditch. The only thing she's seeking now is a time when she doesn't need to protect herself.

At this time when that is not true, cannot be true, seems like it'll never be true, her body's protection means nothing, for she does not give it what _it_ needs. Despite the feet that bring her there, the mind that fills her with the knowledge that she _has to_, the fingers that grasp a knife and fork in hand, the eyes that select what is good and the stomach that craves and begs and wants and clenches for a new reason, her plate is almost always empty - empty because it's been denied the chance to be filled.

**5 **A change is as good as a rest, they say; but then they also say a lot of things, and this is yet another thing she doesn't agree with.

The change of living space has given her nothing, and the restful hours between rare moments of peace, when her father gives her the hugs he hasn't since her childhood, are worse than this change. The four walls of this new cage are of a different shape, but this stops being interesting after a very long hour, the long hours that used to be so short.

This is only the start of her holiday, only the start of the changes and rests that she once didn't have to force herself to take, but already she wants to go back to Hogwarts, where even the very stonework reminds her of him.

**4 **There's no watching or need to be rescued this time: no, her Third Task is to wait, dutifully wait, while his task is to take on the fear and uncertainty and the feeling that, even if he wanted to ask for directions he couldn't, because _no one_ knows the way.

Fortunately, she's good at waiting. Fortunately, she knows that he's never had to ask for directions - not out of pride, but because he can always find the right way. Fortunately, she's helped him prepare for this, as she knows Hermione Granger has helped Harry with _his _task.

People are wrong when they describe the Triwizard Tournament. They speak of glory and of great achievement, of the coming together of many. It's brought her and Cedric together, but ultimately the tasks have one great effect, and that's to make the Champions move forwards, move towards their futures. Surely Cedric's moving on to something important, now.

Now they all know their tasks, and Cho waits, hating and loving it as she always does. For once she wishes she could see the future, but then, we always wish for things that we don't have.

**3 **The Second Task looms and their occasional walks around the Lake take on a new meaning. Now Cedric's looking for the best place to dive in, figuring out where the Giant Squid and doxies tend to lurk, attempting to gauge this vast span of water's depth with spells that never seem to work.

Only a time that seemed shortly before this, in which many hours of her life flew by, he'd tried to find the best way to approach her, slowly figuring out where she spent her time, who with, what she liked. An even shorter time ago she had let him in further, let him see the depths she kept hidden from many. They worked together so well, and she couldn't help but feel resentment towards this Triwizard Cup, the things Cedric was willing to risk his life for that weren't her.

Regardless of his distraction, as they pass the high hedges that screen them from view, revelling in this rare quiet, he squeezes her hand before she squeezes his, and she feels peace return to her, like the smooth surface of what they're circling. It's giving them this time to spend together, and Cedric will be going in there to bring back something precious taken from him. This is worth the gnawing in her mind telling her that he won't breach the surface, that the Lake is deeper than she thinks, as deep as the void she's seen the grief-stricken walk toward with open arms.

When she lies gasping on the edge of the Lake in his arms, his strong limbs blissfully blocking out the cheering crowd, she smiles, thinking that what is lost can always be brought back after all.

**2 **She searches the entire library and is at a loss. Not being the type of Ravenclaw to spend _all _her time here, she nonetheless lovingly uses it for its purpose: learning. So to not know the location of any of her required books is both annoying and a little distressing. Not to mention potentially damaging to her house's reputation, and her own, for she always does her homework.

Madame Pince has no record of them being taken out, and she's more incensed at that than productive in any sort of search. The woman's unhelpfulness is not unexpected, but for all that grating, and not something Cho is used to with anyone else.

Finally, she gives up wandering in this maze of bookshelves and misleading labels, defeated both by something which has never bothered her before and her own desire to be away from a place she doesn't know as well as she'd believed.

She reaches her dormitory, only to find that all the books are waiting on her bed, along with the boy that brought them there. Thoughtfully, Cedric went to get them for her, but, disliking being stared at so much in the library, came back as quickly as possible, even if it meant breaking the rules.

Then comes the second time that day in which she is defeated by her desires, and she learns that not all places she doesn't know are bad.

**1 **She isn't used to watching, and Cedric laughingly tells her that this will change that. He's right, of course, but she isn't annoyed that he hasn't soothed her with pretty words and meaningless comfort: it isn't as if you can't get used to something you hate, like the cold of a chill winter's day; the blur of rain-streaked windows that slur your thoughts in the mornings; the things of nightmares, pale Vampires that look at you as if you were a food they dearly wished to eat.

When Cho says this, he laughs again, but this time it is comforting.

Settling down in the Quidditch stands, an overwhelming feeling of vertigo overcomes her as she sits absorbing the sheer size of everything. Odd, because she's never experienced that before.

Her friends take this fear as nervousness, and they're right. For Cedric will be up against a dragon, trying to take its golden egg - as if that's worth the price of danger.

Dragons. At the sickening sight of them she thinks of Harry Potter: the boy - just a boy - accused of trying to steal Cedric's status as the only Hogwarts' contender, of cheating his way into a competition that he has no right to be in, a competition that could kill him. She feels an odd sort of liking for him now, for he may well have saved Cedric's life, and he is just a boy with troubles he shouldn't have but nonetheless puts up with.

She doesn't resent Harry for being another contender when there should only be one. In the end there'll be one winner anyway: the only difference in this tournament is that there are two Hogwarts students to choose from, and they are equally deserving.

If Cedric were to not win, it wouldn't matter, because she's never really been fond of glory anyway, and she knows he doesn't do this wholly for that. Cedric's a champion whether a cup says so or not: he's destined to be great, and she isn't the only one who says _that_.

As a loud voice announces the official start of the First Task and her friends giggle over the champions, Cho abruptly realises that she's been watching without realising, and she smiles, this time being a little annoyed that Cedric was right. She doesn't want to get used to this worry, doesn't want to watch Cedric being almost consumed by flames stronger than he is, but despite that has let things flow by.

Those around her are sighing over how dreamy Champion Cedric Diggory is, berating her for seeming to take such a wonderful person for granted, and this is comforting, too.

She expresses false sympathy, and when she tells Cedric this as he recovers from the burn on his cheek, he smiles with all the things she likes about him.

**0 **The best part of the Yule Ball isn't the dancing, nor is it the fact that she is here with him, though that's a close matter, as close as they are in this rose garden.

The best thing isn't his smile, or her own brightening her face almost constantly, because although she hopes to smile this freely forever, she'd rather their lips be meeting than be far apart enough to stretch on their own. They soon do.

The best part of this Ball actually began before it started, when he stood before her, trying to seem casual as he asked her to be his date, in the typical way boys don't like to get their pride damaged. It was lovely to see that expression - even if well hidden - on someone so charming, and she couldn't help but be attracted to him; but what she really loved was how he'd been stopping and starting his approaches for two days already, and only now had he found the courage to ask.

Harry Potter's confession was sweet in its own, naive way, for he wasn't yet tempered by the experience of rejection. So as not to damage the boy's pride too much, she'd pretended not to have seen his shy, longing glances as she had pretended not to notice Cedric's stalling, and she felt that when she needed to reject him, the sadness of it was genuine. She'd thought at that moment that they might get to know each other some day, though she wasn't quite sure why she was so certain.

Rowena Ravenclaw, it was whispered, had the ability of precognition: foresight. They were only rumours, unconfirmed, and the most bookish of her Housemates scorned them as the silly fancies of crackpot fortune-tellers, of those wishing to lay claim to practising a so-called fine and well-crafted area of magic in the image of a Hogwarts Founder.

Cho didn't have foresight, and the waiting and building anticipation after Cedric asked her to the Ball made her glad that she didn't. Nothing of that night could be revealed to her beforehand. For now she had only fantasies and quick kisses in corridors to live on, the glimpses of herself in the mirror as she tried her dress on yet again, and it was both torturous and wonderful.

After their soft "Good night"s she smooths that dress' beautiful fabric with her fingers, just as Cedric did, and when she takes it off she doesn't stop reliving the night, sleeping in a bed of roses without the thorns.

**00 **The students from the Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic arrived almost together, standing in the Entrance Hall in two neat lines and coming face to face with the Hogwarts' students encouraged to do the same. It was a stiff meeting, before which even Cho had been told to smarten up (a nearby Hufflepuff, Cedric Diggory, had responded to this with a mouthed "You look great" and a wink, and she hadn't been able to hide her blush). Everyone seemed to settle down quickly at the Welcoming Feast, but the different clothes still stood out sharply from each other, forming more divides in Hogwarts than ever.

After they have welcomed each other, things become more normal again. While the houses keep their ever-present barriers, the one between Hogwarts and its visitors starts to blur, fading completely with some people. She watches students put their names in the Goblet of Fire and smiles, knowing they are all thinking along the same lines.

And as the year goes by, Cho decides that she dislikes things that define, things that emphasise. Only in dreams are things meant to truly unravel, but if everything is stark and rigid then there is no room for surprises, for twists and turns and even the dead-ends that eventually make us stronger.


End file.
